


AKA Poisonous Purple

by prec7ous



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 13:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6987553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prec7ous/pseuds/prec7ous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First-person POV (Jessica). Revisiting a few scenes from the last episode. What if there was more to it?</p><p> <i>The moment I snap his neck, everything changes. The fear I lived in for the past year completely fades away as I lock eyes with you. He's gone for good this time. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders but another returns in its place. I'm still looking at you.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	AKA Poisonous Purple

**Author's Note:**

> First time I tried this POV. Let me know if it's working for you or not at all. I got so excited when the idea for this story popped into my head. I hope you guys like it :)!
> 
> Trigger warning: anxiety/panic attack(s).

The moment I snap his neck, everything changes. The fear I lived in for the past year completely fades away as I lock eyes with you. He's gone for good this time. I feel a weight lift off my shoulders but another returns in its place. I'm still looking at you.

I'm not sure if I believe what my eyes are seeing. Is it my warped mind or are you actually angry, disappointed and disgusted by me? You see the shift in my demeanor and walk towards me. All I want to do is run - fast and hard. But I can't. Something is keeping me right here with his body at my feet. It's not him or the fear that he'll get up again. No, it's you. I'm no longer consciously aware of my surroundings. All I see is you. You seem tense and you gingerly walk toward me. Are you afraid of me now? Do you see me as a murderer?

You reach out to me, eyes pleading for me to take your hand. I don't. I don't trust my vision anymore as it gets blurry with unshed tears. You speak up; it's my name. Your nickname for me. The only person that I let call me Jess. The way you say it makes my stomach hurt so bad that I want to throw up. Your voice cracks and I hear the regret in it.

I'm not sure what you regret but I'm pretty sure it's meeting me.

"I'm sorry," I croak out with my eyes aimed at the ground. I cannot look you in the eyes anymore. Your shoes come into my view and I know you're standing in front of me. You might be wearing the same things as me now, but I thank God that you'll never be actually like I am. You're so much better in every single way. I don't deserve you nor your unwavering friendship. But is it really unwavering, or is this the end? Have I gone too far? Saying you're going to take a life and actually taking it are two different things. I killed a man with my bare hands. Yes, he deserved it and you might even agree but...

I took a life, nonetheless.

My thoughts stop abruptly as you take my hand in yours. You bring them both to cup your cheek. I know what you're doing; you're trying to ground me. You leave your hand over mine because you already know that I will pull away otherwise. I won't admit that it feels good to feel the warmth of your skin under my palm. But then you lift your own hand and I cannot keep mine on your face so I drop it immediately. I hear you breathe heavily as I try to decipher what the exact color of the ground is.

You grab my hand again and push it below your collarbone, right over your heart. You push my hand into you, rather hard, but I cannot do anything besides let it happen. I'm in a daze. I have no control over my actions.

You control me in this moment.

Not like... The man before my feet used to do. No. I let you. I trust you. I'll always will. You push your hand into your chest until you're sure I can feel it. I felt it the moment my hand touched you and now it only intensified. I'm not talking just about your heartbeat but you'll never know that. You put your other hand over my heart and I'm sure it stopped beating momentarily before thrumming out of control.

Your heart beats steadily under my palm. I close my eyes and focus on it. I hear you speaking again but I'm not listening. I'm not sure I want to hear what you have to say. I'm not sure I'm ready to hear you say what kind of monster I am. I know you're trying to comfort me and I silently thank you for that, but I also know that you're not one to shy away from the truth no matter how harsh it is; not with me at least.

And I know. I know what I did. I'm lost in my own thoughts and it isn't until you shake me that I refocus again. I momentarily forget that I shouldn't look up at you. I do anyway.

I'm confused as you stand there smiling at me. I thought you were mad but now I see it reflected in your eyes. It's love, understanding and maybe even pride. I feel unworthy of all of those feelings. You lean in and I close my eyes. I'm not sure what you're going to do as I still think you're this close to punching me into tomorrow. I would let you, gladly. You don't, however. I feel your lips upon my forehead as you kiss it. I breathe in your scent and I immediately feel at home. You don't pull away immediately and I have to refrain from pulling you closer to me.

I want you near but I'm not sure how to achieve that.

So, I just repeat myself again: "I'm sorry." I'm sorry for making you go through that. I'm sorry you had to kiss him. I'm sorry that he violated your mind, your soul, and your body. I'm sorry that I allowed him to make you his slave. I'm sorry for letting him get close to you. I'm sorry for bringing him into your life. I'm sorry that I wedged myself into your life. I'm sorry for being the proxy. I'm... Sorry for it all.

You shush me gently and I'm at a loss for words. As if you can read my mind, you pull me into a hug. It's exactly what I want but I cannot allow myself this moment if it's not going to last. You cannot miss what you never (allowed yourself to) have. So I keep my arms at my side. But you, the understanding soul that you are, know exactly what I'm thinking - or so it seems. I hear you say: "Jess, it's OK."

There's so much emotion in your voice, some of which I can decipher and some which are foreign to me. Something inside me breaks and I let it happen. I allow myself this moment. Hoping I don't regret it in the future, I raise my arms to your waist and I hug you tightly. I even burrow my head in your neck and close my eyes; revelling in the feeling of your body pressed into mine, the way you smell and most importantly the way you make me feel. Alive and loved. You hug me closer in reply. A silent reassurance, or a last indulgence? I'm not sure. But as we get separated by half a dozen cops, I cannot bring myself to feel anything other than content.

I'm not sure if I'll ever see you again, but in this brief moment, I had you to silently call mine.

**

How much jail time does one get for murder with intent? Will they put me on death row claiming I'm the psychopath? Can I even tell them that I'm not? Because I am. I am.

**

They charge me with murder. I can't even argue. I'm guilty. Hogarth sits beside me and I've seemed to have lost my voice again. She tells them that he asked me to kill him. She goes for assisted suicide. How ironic, considering he was probably guilty of at least that a thousand times over.

Somewhere along the way, I tell them I'm not guilty and somehow I end up a free woman.

When I try to remember what happened, I come up empty. It doesn't matter anyway because the moment I leave the police station I see you standing near your car. You spot me first, however. It's like gravity or some unknown force pulls me toward you. I'm not even thinking when I come to a stop right in front of you. You stayed. For me. You didn't leave me. You're still here. It's something that I repeat to myself over and over.

Your arms wrap around me and I feel home in an instant. This time, I don't hesitate to return the hug. I'm not sure if the force is hurting you, but if it is, you're not showing it. At some point, you pull away and I miss your warmth immediately. You wordlessly manoeuvre me into the car and close my door.

That's your first mistake.

I know what's happening but can't do anything to stop it. Everything is a blur and I don't know what's happening. It feels like I'm suffocating. I think I'm hyperventilating. I feel trapped. Suddenly, I feel hands on me.

Your second mistake.

My mind can't differentiate between what's real and what's not. I'm not aware it's you. I'm not aware that the touch is not threatening. So, I respond in the only way I know how.

I launch at your throat with the intent of doing what I did mere hours ago. Somehow, my face ends up near yours - or the other way around - and I hear a strained voice say my name. Your nickname for me.

I immediately let go.

Shame washes over me. I panic. I just tried to kill the only person I care about. He might be dead, but he was almost the reason that we were as well. Because without you, I am nothing. Without you, I'm just a walking dead person.

Without you, there's no reason to keep living.

I go to open the door but somehow you're faster and you lock it. You know it will only help for a moment as I'm strong enough to yank the door off its hinges in a heartbeat. But it's enough. That split-second in which you urge me to stay is enough for me to freeze instead of leave. I'm breathing fast and unsteady and so are you. Both for different reasons.

I'm scared to look at you. At what I have done to you. I almost killed you. Maybe I should walk back into the precinct and make them lock me up. I deserve it. Before I can do anything you make the choice for me. I hear you exiting the car and I'm sure you're going straight to a cop to tell them that I'm insane. I snort at my own insanity. I'm messed up. I'm a piece of shit.

The lock automatically unlocks again and somehow I'm not sure what that means. Are you giving me a chance to run? Give me a chance before the cops catch me? The door opens before I can move. You're standing there, effectively blocking off my exit.

You kneel before me. One of your hands is on the car to steady yourself while you tentatively place the other on my thigh. You don't speak and neither do I. I'm guessing you're waiting but I don't know what for. I can't even think about anything. My mind is a complete mess. I tried to kill you, why are you still here? I told you to steer clear of me and you didn't. Now look what happened.

As if you can hear what I'm thinking, you tighten your grip on me. You clear your throat, you know, the one you almost lost and start speaking. You sound off, hoarse... In pain even. I did that. Me. I can hear you are trying hard to keep your voice low and steady.

"Your name is Jessica Jones. I am Trish Walker. You are sitting in my car in the passenger seat. You just left the precinct. When you start to remember what happened after that, I want you to let it go. You either tell me and we talk about it, or you let it go." I start tensing up. I do remember what happened. Apparently, you catch on as well. "Right. Jessica Jones, I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. You're stuck with me and you better accept it right now."

There are tears in my eyes that I don't want to let fall. If I give in to my feelings I won't be able to walk away again. You are rubbing on my thigh soothingly and let your fingers individually trace patterns. It distracts me from my thoughts. I feel slightly better. That, however, changes in an instant when you nudge my chin up gently to look at you. I slowly lift my gaze but before I reach your eyes, my eyes lock onto your bare throat. It's already bruising. I grip my hands into fists as my protective nature kicks in. I want to hurt the person that hurt you.

It's barely a second later that I realize again that it was me.

I promised myself to never hurt you. To always protect you. I never laid a hand on you and made sure the people that did pay. I'm just as bad as Dorothy. I'm just as bad as some of the men you dated that hurt you. Regret is flooding my body and I start to tremble again...

You nudge my chin up higher, pleading for me to meet your eyes. I can't. You lose patience, or something, and cup my face in both your hands and lower your own face to my height. "Look at me, Jess."

But I don't. I shut them harder. I hear you sighing but you don't retract your hands.

"I forgive you, Jess."

I hear you say the words and can't help but think whether and how many chances you gave others that hurt you like I did. I hope you didn't but I know you did.

Because just like them, I don't deserve one.

Tears spill from my closed eyes. Your hands wipe them away and some kind of involuntary noise leaves my mouth. I'm the one that hurt you but you're the one that's consoling me. Typical.

Suddenly, my brain short circuits. I'm not sure if it's real or not but I feel your lips on mine. Your hands still cup my face. And I? I can't bring myself to return the kiss. If I do, I'll be lost forever.

You pull away when you realize that I won't be kissing you back. Your hands abruptly leave my face. And I? I feel hollow. For all the mistakes I thought you made regarding me, I just made the biggest one to date.

I instantly know that I will regret this the rest of my life.

I feel my heart beat out of my chest. It screams for your touch and after your lips on mine, I don't think I can deny the ache anymore. I blindly search for your hands and I pull you back again. I feel your breath just inches away. I know that you're waiting. I know you're not going to try anything again. I know I messed up. I do.

I rest my forehead against yours, still not opening my eyes. We sit like this for what feels like hours but is probably mere minutes or even seconds. In those moments, I ask myself what I want. And the answer comes instantaneously.

You. I want you. It has always been you.

Selfishly, it's always been you. I don't know what you want and even if you do want me, you're too good for me. We can never be, and I'll make sure to let you live the life that you deserve and watch from the sidelines and with sidelines, I mean that I'll protect you without you knowing. You'll be unaware of my presence because, you. You deserve the best of the best and I'm not it. I'm not.

So, I allow myself this selfish moment and remind myself that it's the last time I'll see you. With that thought, I empty my mind and drown in you for the first and last time.

I kiss you.

I expect nothing but you immediately kiss me back without missing a beat. I want to speak, unsure of what to say but you take it as a way to gain access and deepen the kiss while your tongue finds mine. You taste sweet but not overwhelmingly so.

There's something more but I cannot place it.

You make me feel things I never felt before. I never thought was even possible. The fingers of both our hands are intertwined and you grip them progressively harder. I'm not sure if you're grounding me or yourself.

And then it hits me; you taste and feel like home.

With that thought, I end the kiss abruptly. I slowly open my eyes just in time with yours. Our eyes lock for the first time again. I see love in your eyes. This has to stop. Love isn't supposed to be as bittersweet like this.

This time, I speak. "Leave, and don't come find me, OK?" You stand up and start to back away. I see you struggle for words as you stop a few feet away.

"Is that really what you want?" Your voice wavers, it's full of pain.

"Yes," I say but I don't really mean it. I know you know that too and it kills me that you read me like a book.

You don't move. Your whole body trembles. I see that you're trying to keep your composure. It's like you're fighting against something. I'm not sure. Your eyes fill with fear and I don't understand why.

I don't want you to feel afraid.

You start to stumble backwards and almost trip over your own feet. You back away slowly. Your breathing is ragged. This isn't how I meant it to go. You were just supposed to leave and live your damn life without me. Why do you always complicate things?

"Trish? This is your car."

You answer me affirmatively and my eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. Something is off.

"You know I don't drive. So, come back and take it." You walk toward me again and this time, you look a little more relieved. There's still something off. Your replies and movements are strained. It reminds me of...

Wait.

"Stop."

You stop. My mind goes haywire. I'm not sure if you're playing a game. Why would you? You wouldn't. I go to confirm my suspicions and hope to whatever God is out there that I'm wrong.

With a trembling voice, I ask you this.  
"Trish, am I making you do things against your will?"

"Yes," is the immediate answer as your eyes fill with tears that promptly fall down your face.

Fuck.


End file.
